


The Deep End

by Spencer5460



Category: Sherlock BBC
Genre: Episode Related, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6247480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencer5460/pseuds/Spencer5460
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It finally occurs to me that he isn’t just another set of clues to be deduced, or a riddle to be solved.  That he is <i>my</i> John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Deep End

**The Deep End**  


“Coming?” I ask.

“If you want me to.” He responds simply.

“Of course. I’d be lost without my blogger.” My link to humanity. My touchstone. The one person who puts up with me not because it is required of him or that he is in awe of me, but simply because he _chooses_ to.

He reminds me, among other things, that there is a sun and moon and stars that circle above this dull, gray plane of existence. That some things in my peripheral vision _do_ matter. Galaxies beyond our grasp.

And so I’ve circled ‘round to the place where the game began. A swimming pool, a memory stick and missile defense plans.

And John. He steps out to reveal himself. A bomb vest beneath his jacket.

I’d be lost without my blogger. My words come back to me as I am confronted with the reality that he might _cease to be_ in the next few seconds. And it finally occurs to me that he isn’t just another set of clues to be deduced, or a riddle to be solved. That he is _my_ John.

The thought stuns me. Leaves me weak in the knees. It’s one thing even _I_ couldn’t have predicted.

“I can stop John Watson, too. Stop his heart.” Moriarty’s words echo obscenely in the tiled chamber.

_No no no._ Something screams inside. My conscience? Or my own instinct for self-preservation. If Moriarty stops his heart, my heart will surely stop as well. 

Jim prattles on - his voice rising and falling in a maniacal cadence - about the roles we perform and the games we play. The people we toss around like dice.

Suddenly, John surges forward and grabs Moriarty around the neck. “Sherlock, run!”

Now the sniper’s mark is on them both. I stumble back in realization of how he’s willing to sacrifice himself for me. Against all logic. Because he’s brave and he’s noble and he’s . . .

“Good! Very good,” Moriarty squeals in delight. “Isn’t he sweet? I can see why you like having him around.”

“ . . . . so touchingly loyal. But, oops! You’ve rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson.”

Yes, he has. Hasn’t he. He is _my_ John, after all. And I am his.


End file.
